CATRIONA

CHAPTER I--A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK







The 25th day of August, 1751, about two in the afternoon, I, David

Balfour, came forth of the British Linen Company, a porter

attending me with a bag of money, and some of the chief of these

merchants bowing me from their doors. Two days before, and even so

late as yestermorning, I was like a beggar-man by the wayside, clad

in rags, brought down to my last shillings, my companion a

condemned traitor, a price set on my own head for a crime with the

news of which the country rang. To-day I was served heir to my

position in life, a landed laird, a bank porter by me carrying my

gold, recommendations in my pocket, and (in the words of the

saying) the ball directly at my foot.



There were two circumstances that served me as ballast to so much

sail. The first was the very difficult and deadly business I had

still to handle; the second, the place that I was in. The tall,

black city, and the numbers and movement and noise of so many folk,

made a new world for me, after the moorland braes, the sea-sands

and the still country-sides that I had frequented up to then. The

throng of the citizens in particular abashed me. Rankeillor's son

was short and small in the girth; his clothes scarce held on me;

and it was plain I was ill qualified to strut in the front of a

bank-porter. It was plain, if I did so, I should but set folk

laughing, and (what was worse in my case) set them asking

questions. So that I behooved to come by some clothes of my own,

and in the meanwhile to walk by the porter's side, and put my hand

on his arm as though we were a pair of friends.